


Rise Up

by NoirSongbird



Series: Rise [1]
Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blood, Dancing, Duelling, Emperor Hux: Origins, Gratuitous References to Hamilton, Hux Backstory, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, and for that i am very sorry, basically this is going to be one big mess of ust, sorta - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-05-28 01:13:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6308407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoirSongbird/pseuds/NoirSongbird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Major Hux thought that being selected as General Whit's aide-de-camp was the best thing that could possibly happen to him. It positioned him exactly where he needed to be to continue to advance, at the right hand of the commander of the First Order's forces, and with his burgeoning plans for the Starkiller weapon, he's sure it won't be long before he impresses the Supreme Leader enough to earn a spot in the First Order's High Command.</p><p>He did not count on Kylo Ren.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Right Hand Man

**Author's Note:**

> So, when I was writing Rise, I found myself kind of wondering over the "how" of Kylo's devotion to Hux. And then I decided I really wanted to write young, pre-General Hux and suffer my way through intense mutual pining because neither of these two is capable of getting their emotional shit together. Please enjoy the result.

Major Alexandros Hux stood at firm attention. Being called for a private meeting with the General of the Armies - the leader of the First Order’s forces and commander of its flagship the _Finalizer_ \- was, generally, one of two things: very good, or very bad. He hoped, faintly, that it was good; his performance in the recent simulation had been particularly good, though he had employed unconventional tactics that he felt were better suited to the First Order’s actual position. They weren’t a military, not yet; they were a guerilla force. They had to _operate_ like that, damn it, and if anyone asked him - not that they had, yet, because all he had was his name and his aim - he would tell them it was necessary to stop treating this like the Galactic Civil War or the Clone Wars. They could stand to take more pages out of the Rebel Alliance’s book, however distasteful the Alliance was.

General Whit wasn’t known for being particularly obsessive about regulations, not the way Hux’s father was, but it was still possible he was going to be disciplined for deviating from the plan for the simulation. Or he was going to be praised for it. He didn’t want to guess.

“Major?” The General’s voice had him striding into the office, and he readjusted himself to parade rest in front of Whit’s desk.

Whit had been a young, up-and-coming officer when the Empire fell, and had been one of many to go into exile. Now he was much older, but he had made a name for himself in the First Order and risen to the top with a mix of experience, charisma, and, likely, “accidents” that moved rivals out of his way. That was how these things were done - and no one would deny that Whit absolutely belonged in his position. Tall, towering several inches over Hux himself, dark-skinned, and built like a solid wall, Whit was every inch the commanding, intimidating officer Hux could only dream of becoming.

“Sir,” Hux said.

“At ease, Major,” the General said, and he gestured to the chair on Hux’s side of the desk. Hux dropped into it, relaxing his posture only a little. It would do him no good to be lax and lazy in front of a superior officer. Especially not the General. Whit examined him briefly, and then sat back. “I’m going to be honest with you, Major, when I first saw your name on the rosters, I was unimpressed. I’m sure you know I was no great friend of your father’s,” Hux had to suppress a wince, and apparently he didn’t quite manage, because Whit regarded him with an amused raised eyebrow, “and I rather expected his son would be cut from the same cloth. Lazy, indolent, content to let other people do his work and fulfill his ambitions for him.” 

“...Sir?” Hux swallowed. Certainly there were plenty of people not fond of his father, mostly the older officers who had survived the Empire’s fall and who remembered all too well that Brendol Hux had once been investigated for treason, or who resented the loyalty he cultivated in the younger generation. The officers around Hux’s age had, almost to a man, been _trained_ by Hux Senior, and were universally fairly fond of him, because he was a charismatic and likeable man when he wanted to be.

“I have never been more pleased to be wrong, Major,” Whit said, and Hux felt confusion overtake him. It was probably obvious on his face. “Your recent performance in the simulations has demonstrated a rare tactical mein, your skills with your rifle are excellent, and frankly, Major, you are a credit to the Order.”

“Thank you, sir,” Hux said. “Though I confess I’m still not sure why you called me here.” The compliments were nice, but ultimately puzzling. There had to be a purpose to this; Whit called people to him only rarely.

“Major, I imagine that you are well and aware that our efforts in the field are…” Whit paused, for a long moment. “Less than successful, currently.” Hux nodded slowly. He was indeed aware - all the officers were. Their losses were heavy, heavier than they needed to be and heavier than they could afford. “I understand, also, you have a way with words?” Hux flushed, and glanced down at his lap. He had been known for his rhetoric once, at the academy, but hadn’t had a chance to flex that particular muscle recently. Mostly, he thought he sounded pompous and overblown. “Don’t look so embarrassed, Major, it’s something to be proud of. I’m no good at speeches, myself.” False humility, Hux was fairly certain. Whit could stir a crowd well enough. “I have been looking, for quite some time, for a proper aide-de-camp; someone with a grasp of tactics and strategy, who I can trust as my right hand. I think, Major, having witnessed your exceptional performance, that I would like it to be you.”

Hux felt his breathing stop for a moment. Operating as aide-de-camp to General Whit, he would be one of the most powerful people in the First Order. It would be politically advantageous, the kind of career move that could only lead him to better things.

“Sir, I would be honored to accept,” Hux said, and when Whit stood and offered him a hand, Hux stood too, shaking it eagerly.

“Don’t be too quick to say so, Major, I’m bringing you on right as we’re about to have a special guest aboard.” Whit said, and his tone was dry.

“A guest, sir?” Hux frowned. Whit grinned in a way that somehow managed to communicate that he was not, at all, pleased.

“The Supreme Leader is sending us his apprentice.”

 

\---------

 

Hux’s first impression of Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, apprentice to Supreme Leader Snoke, was that he was _dramatic._ He arrived on the _Finalizer_ in a black Upsilon-class shuttle, strode down the ramp in a whirl of black robes, and oh, that _fucking mask._ On first look, he hated it, because it was ridiculous and overblown. Perhaps it was necessary; perhaps Ren was damaged as Darth Vader had been, perhaps the “Dark Side” of the Force twisted its adherents beyond human recognition. But really, given every other bit of Kylo Ren’s demeanor, Hux was almost certain it was cosmetic.

“General Whit.” Ren regarded the General, and Hux found himself digging his fingers into his palms. “I am pleased to finally meet you in person.”

He had never worried overmuch about his attraction to men - attraction in any sense had mostly been a playful indulgence, and one Hux had only rarely pursued. But he had alway had a thing for certain voices, and even though he knew Ren’s was heavily modulated by the mask, it was exactly the kind of tone and timbre he was very much into.

Honestly, fuck Ren, and especially fuck his attractive fucking voice.

“It is an honor to have you aboard my ship, Lord Ren,” the General was saying, and Hux forced himself to pay attention. “This is my aide-de-camp, Major Hux. He will be happy to perform whatever services you might need.” Hux inclined his head to the Knight, and Ren turned to look him over for a very long moment. Hux really rather hoped that the mindreading capabilities attributed to powerful Forceusers were wild exaggeration, or at least that Ren had the general courtesy not to casually shuffle around the minds of his presumed allies.

_No such luck on either count, Major._

Only Hux’s practiced iron control kept him from jumping or turning a harsh frown on the man, but he could at least _feel_ something in his head, a whispery presence that coiled around his thoughts. And he felt, further, when it withdrew, with a lingering sense of laughter.

“I will require a training facility set aside for my personal use,” Ren said, out loud this time. “Can you manage scheduling that, Major?”

“Of course, Sir,” Hux said, fingers digging even harder into his palms. He got the general unpleasant sensation that he was the butt of a private joke for Ren. “I’ll have room three marked for your exclusive use.”

Ren nodded to him, and then strode off.

It took Hux a lot longer than he was proud of to realize that it had been Ren’s _unmodulated_ voice in his head, and fuck if _that_ voice wasn’t hot, too.

Hux was well and truly screwed.


	2. My Shot

Once Hux actually got to  _ know  _ Kylo Ren, it was thoroughly easy to pretend he wasn’t half as attracted to that ridiculous voice as he was, because Ren seemed to insist upon getting Hux to do the most mundane, ridiculous tasks. It made Hux absolutely furious, and he felt a bubble of bitter resentment. He should be commanding troops, not playing Kylo Ren’s errand boy. He didn’t mind half so much when it was for Whit, when he was organizing the man’s reports and helping to devise strategy, but Ren seemed to think it was hilarious to send an aide-de-camp to do things like fetch his meals at ridiculous hours or copy-edit his reports to Snoke.

But the worst were the fucking  _ tantrums,  _ whenever things didn’t go his way. Ren had yet to turn violence on any of the people on the  _ Finalizer,  _ which was good because Supreme Leader’s apprentice or not, Hux was fairly certain Whit would have vented Ren out an airlock for hurting a member of his crew, but the equipment? The equipment was definitely fair game. Hux had never seen one of those tantrums in action, but he could tell they were tied to Ren’s apparent continued failure in whatever mission he was on for the Supreme Leader. Hux had only picked up pieces from the reports he’d edited for Ren - something about Luke fucking Skywalker, like that old fossil mattered at all. 

And Ren took his continual failure out on the  _ Finalizer’s  _ consoles. Fortunately he was intelligent enough to avoid essential systems, but when poor terrified Corporal Mitaka grabbed Hux’s arm, pulled him aside, and informed him that Ren was having a go at a communications suite, Hux decided it had to stop. He sent a quick missive to Whit so the General knew what he was doing (and received a response to the tune of “if he kills you, I’ll make sure you’re buried as a hero”, which was  _ endlessly  _ reassuring) and stormed off to find Ren.

 

\-----

 

There was no part of Kylo Ren that actually wanted to be on the  _ Finalizer.  _ He knew Whit was his Master’s favorite toy soldier, and he  _ did  _ sometimes find himself respecting the man for his tactical cleverness and the incredibly tight ship he ran, in spite of his Forceblind nature, and Whit’s aide - Hux - was distantly entertaining in his utter refusal to be intimidated or even to show the irritation that rolled off him at Kylo’s very existence, but really, he was absolutely certain that his search for Skywalker was better conducted with smaller vessels and a stealthier approach.

Even if he  _ was  _ sort of fond of the “torch it all” approach that having squadrons of Stormtroopers at his beck and call allowed for.

This had been another dead end. If Skywalker had been in the little village Kylo had destroyed, it was decades ago, and he was long gone with no one alive aware of his destination. Kylo was sure of that; he had torn through the minds of the villagers before ordering the troopers to kill them all.

He was tired, stressed, and  _ furious _ . He hesitated to question his Master’s will, but he had picked up the edge of Hux’s utterly contemptuous thoughts on the whole affair - that it was pointless, that Skywalker was so far gone it didn’t matter - and he couldn’t help but agree, at least a little.

Even if it would be  _ personally satisfying _ to finish what he had started at the Temple and end the last Jedi.

With that route denied him, and with few other ways to vent his frustrations, he had gone for the auxiliary comm console and started in on it with his lightsaber.

When he brought it back for a powerful swing, and found that his arm didn’t move when he wanted it to because there was something stopping it, it took him a shamefully long moment to realize that something was a gloved hand. Kylo snarled, the sound distorted viciously by his vocoder, and rounded on the fool who dared get in his way -

And his eyes met sharp, cold blue, like fragments of ice, and a disgusted sneer.

Hux. 

_ Hux,  _ Whit’s glorified fucking  _ secretary,  _ was staring him down without even the slightest hint of fear. 

“Lord Ren,” he said, and his voice was as much chipped ice as his eyes, “while I am well and given to understand that my comfort is the least of your concerns, I would  _ very  _ much prefer you cease this absolutely  _ ridiculous  _ destruction of First Order property and find a more productive means for dealing with whatever basket of issues you are  _ clearly  _ dealing with. Preferably one that does not generate more paperwork for me.”

Kylo had never found himself rendered pleasantly speechless before, but something about the absolute ferocity the Major was displaying made something in his chest do a little flip. He reached out, lightly, with the Force - Hux was furious, frustrated, sort of wanted to punch him - not even the slightest flicker of fear.

Kylo deactivated his lightsaber, and Hux released his wrist.

“Much better,” the Major said, and in a surprising show of drama, he turned on his heel and stalked out.

For a moment, Kylo swore he was wearing a greatcoat like Whit’s - but that was ridiculous, Hux would have to be an Admiral or a General before he had one of those.

If nothing else, Hux was definitely more interesting than Kylo had given him credit for.

And perhaps he was being unfair, making the man his errand boy.

 

\-----

 

“He’s absolutely insufferable,” Hux said a week later, with a loud, frustrated groan, seating himself next to Phasma in the mess. Today’s vague-flavored nutritional paste was greenish, with flatbread, and really, there were worse meals, all things considered.

“Whit?” Phasma asked, sounding surprised. “He doesn’t present that way.”

“No, not Whit, he’s perfectly decent.  _ Ren.” _ Hux practically sneered out the name. “Did you know, he had me fetch his fucking  _ laundry  _ this morning? His  _ laundry!  _ There are  _ droids  _ for that!” 

“You’re joking,” Phasma said, shaking her head. Hux liked Phasma - she was tactical and clever, the very best of his father’s Stormtrooper program, and the head of the  _ Finalizer’s  _ trooper detachment. Phasma was practically walking proof that the First Order’s program was  _ far  _ superior to any clone army.

No matter  _ what  _ Ren kept insinuating.

Hux was half-certain that was another attempt to personally aggravate him, given that it was his father’s brainchild, but he prided himself on not rising to the Knight’s constant taunts.

“I wish I was,” Hux exhaled heavily. “I am  _ so  _ glad it’s sim day, I need to shoot something.” It was too bad that something wasn’t Ren. “Which squad are we taking out?”

“The RA corps, sir - 3488, 1754, 2321, and 8732.” Phasma replied. Hux nodded. 

“And your evaluation of them?” He valued Phasma’s opinion - and he hoped Whit could be made to as well, because Phasma’s opinion tended to be correct.

“They’re decent, but 2321 is soft. She’s going to get the rest of them killed in real combat if she doesn’t shape up.” Phasma said. Hux wrinkled his nose. 

“Unfortunate.” He said, and then he stood, taking Phasma’s tray as well as his own. “Let’s hope she performs better today.”

 

\--------

 

When Hux realized that he was  _ not  _ in fact going to get to vent his Ren-induced frustrations because Ren was  _ in the fucking simchamber,  _ Hux pressed his fingers to his temple. He hadn’t interacted face-to--well, mask with the Knight since he had (somehow, incredibly) managed to stop that little tantrum in the auxiliary comm room, and frankly he hadn’t  _ wanted  _ to. He’d carried out Ren’s petty little orders - which he  _ did  _ suppose were coming with decreased frequency - without ever actually having to interact with the man.

Still, there were protocols to be followed.

“Lord Ren,” Hux inclined his head politely. “Come to observe?”

“To participate, actually,” Ren replied almost idly. “I’ve heard good things about your tactical genius, Major. I’d like to see it in action.” 

Hux swallowed.

_ Shit. _

He hated failing, and he hated the idea of failing in front of Ren even more.

“Does that mean you’ll follow my orders?” He asked, to distract himself, and he glanced over at Phasma, who was briefing her troopers. 

“For the moment,” Ren acquiesced, inclining his head. Hux had to suppress a grin.

“Excellent.” He said. “We’re running a simulation based on taking Theed - the royal palace specifically. I’ll be separate from the rest of the squadron, heading for a higher vantage point on the hangar bay to stop their Air Force from engaging.” He tapped his rifle, and Ren inclined his head. “Phasma and her squadron will be heading for the throne room to take it and claim the objective. I want you with me, so I have ground cover and don’t get shot in the back of the head by some pilot who figures out there’s a sniper in the rafters.”

“Understood, Major.” Ren said, and Hux swore he detected a note of humor in the man’s voice. “I confess, I may be at a bit of a disadvantage fighting simulated opponents.” Hux raised an eyebrow. “They lack a Force presence - I’m used to tracking my enemies as much by that as by any other sense.” 

“Well. That’s what you have me for.” Hux said. He even chanced a smile, and something in the shift of Ren’s body language made him feel like if he could see the man’s face, it would be returned. “Is there a comm unit in that helmet?” Hux asked. Ren nodded. “Good. Frequency 1,” Hux adjusted his own headset. “Phasma, are we ready?”

“Yes, sir,” she replied.

“Good. Computer, Simulation NTD-54,” Hux ordered. Around them, Theed Royal Palace bloomed, and Hux gave Ren what could only be considered an entirely reckless grin. Simulations were the closest he had gotten to real combat since the unsanctioned, unregulated underground fights he had relished at the Academy. Even though there was no real risk, he relished it - relished the power that came even from simulated opponents falling under his practiced, precise shots.

They moved quietly, just the two of them, though the simulation helpfully provided the sounds of a battle crashing all around outside the palace. Theirs was a reversal of the strategy once used by the Jedi, Queen Amidala, and their small group to retake the palace from the Trade Federation - send in a small force, claim the most important objectives, and hold them. Phasma and her squadron would be cutting through the halls to the Throne Room, where the simulated Queen - the simulation’s tagged Objective - would be waiting. The goal was to capture the Queen before a) everyone doing the simulation was “killed,” or b) the Nabooian defenders took out the Star Destroyer above. Hux had run this sim from the Destroyer’s bridge before (where the goal was to head off fighter attacks for a set period of two standard hours), and as a combatant in the urban fighting around the Palace (where the goal was to claim another major building), but never as the infiltration team. 

This was going to be fun, especially since he would finally get to see Ren put that crackling, unstable lightsaber to its proper use. 

Ren covered him while he made his way to the first rafter column, and then charged forward to engage the Nabooian pilots already flailing for their ships. Once Hux had himself settled in a decent sniper’s nest, he started aiming at the ships themselves - the first time one exploded from a well-placed shot Ren glanced up at him and Hux really, really wished he could see the man’s face, because his body language bespoke surprised admiration and  _ he wanted to see it. _

It was only a moment and then Ren was back to fighting, hacking through simulated pilots with his lightsaber and flinging them left and right with the Force.

One managed to scramble into an X-Wing and start it up, and Hux lined up a shot to drop him out of the sky. He didn’t have to. Ren spun, and suddenly he was  _ dragging the X-Wing back with nothing but the Force. _

And oh. Oh, that was  _ incredible.  _

The loud buzz signaling Phasma’s squadron capturing the Objective and thus the end of the simulation jolted Hux back to reality, and he moved quickly to get out of the rafters before they were gone.

He turned to Ren, and for the second time in far too short a period, the Knight made his breath catch, because Ren had  _ removed that stupid fucking helmet,  _ and  _ fuck.  _ He was shaking out delicately curled black hair that framed an elegantly pale face, flecked with dark spots. The nose and ears were a little big and might have seemed out of place on anyone else, but somehow the entire effect came together to be utterly breathtaking. Ren caught Hux’s gaze with rich brown eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“Thank you, Major. That was an...educational experience,” he said, and then he replaced the helmet because Phasma and her squadron were starting to head back over.

 

\--------

 

“I hate him,” Hux informed Phasma over celebratory drinks that night - they had set a new speed record for clearing that particular variant of the Theed sim. “He’s absolutely terrible, arrogant and demanding and temperamental and childish and he has the nerve - the _absolute gall -_ to be clever and powerful and bloody goddamn _gorgeous_ and have a voice like fucking velvet. I _despise_ him, Phasma, really I do.”

Phasma groaned. It was going to be a very long deployment.


	3. A Winter's Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter now comes with an [illustration](http://flukeoffate.deviantart.com/art/A-Winter-s-Ball-Kylux-Edition-601431758) of the waltz by the lovely FlukeOfFate! THANK YOU SO MUCH, AHHHH.

 Six months into his deployment on the _Finalizer,_ Kylo discovered there was something worse than having to tolerate being on the same ship as First Order officers.

That something was _having to attend a First Order social event._

It was on Snoke’s direct and very explicit orders, which both he and Whit had protested - Whit because he thought Ren’s presence was unnecessary, Kylo because the idea of being at a formal dance made him want to crawl out of his skin. But Snoke had insisted, because of reports of directed threats against the General. This was the most exposed he had been in months, docked planetside and in the ballroom of the home of some major First Order financial backer or other, and if someone was going to attempt to assassinate General Whit, it would be here.

Apparently it was now part of Kylo Ren’s job to play undercover security detail. “Undercover” because he was out of his robes and mask, hair carefully pulled into a low bun, and in First Order dress blues. There were only two people here who knew who he was - Whit and Hux.

Speaking of Hux -- he hadn’t seen the Major all evening, which was a tragedy, because Kylo was slowly starting to come to comfortable terms with the fact that he found Hux more than just _interesting,_ which was what he had settled on after seeing Hux in command in the simulation _._ He found him _attractive._ Nothing he ever really intended to act on, but he had hoped to get at least some entertainment out of being able to watch Hux move through the crowd in his dress uniform.

He felt out for the particular signature of Hux’s mind, and found him by the refreshment table at the center of a small group. Hux was undeniably charming; in the last few months he had become something of a poster boy for the First Order, appearing in propaganda videos and giving speeches under Whit’s watchful eye. He was also trying not to embarrass himself in his eagerness to enjoy real, actual food and not the flavorless rations they served aboard the _Finalizer._

Well. Kylo glanced over in that direction, and yes, there he was - and oh, he looked absolutely _resplendent_ in dress whites. Kylo swallowed, coughed, and swept a glass of something or other off the tray of the next waiter that wandered by, taking a sip to help with his suddenly very dry throat.

Hux turned, briefly, from the group he was speaking to, and his eyes met Kylo’s and -- _oh._ Oh, his face actually lit up a little, and there was something approaching a real smile on the Major’s normally taciturn face, and Kylo was not at all prepared for what that smile did to him. This was _ridiculous,_ he was a master of the Dark Side and he absolutely did not _need people,_ and he certainly did not feel anything resembling _affection_ for anyone, much less Major Alexandros Hux. It was just base attraction, and his heart was certainly not doing little flipflops because Hux was disengaging from the people he had been talking to and walking over to him, and…

Ah, fuck. He was in _way_ too deep.

Kylo pushed off the wall, and started making his way over to Hux, carefully dodging partygoers to meet him in the middle. Might as well make the most of the evening, really, since he had to be here.

 

\------

 

No one had told Hux to expect Ren to be at the ball, though he supposed it made a kind of sense. He was an undetectable, unknown security force, and with the threats on Whit’s life, Hux had tried to convince the General not to attend this ridiculous soiree at _all._ Bringing Ren was a much better solution.

Also, Hux found that he very much liked admiring Ren in well-tailored dress blues. They accentuated the broad shoulders and narrow waist, and Hux was almost entirely certain that if he could get a look at Ren from behind, he’d have a perfectly outlined view of a perfect muscular ass.

He rather hoped Ren wasn’t in his head right then, because that was an entirely embarrassing train of thought to be having when he was walking over to meet the man. Ren had stepped away from the wall and they met in the middle, and Hux had to put actual effort into schooling his features to avoid flushing when he saw the almost playfully predatory grin on the Knight’s face. He found his thoughts a little scattered just by proximity, and for a moment everything was lost to the pounding of his heart.

“Enjoying the party, Major?” Ren asked, and wow, he really could just listen to that voice for hours, honestly.

“Ah,” it took him longer than he was proud of to formulate an answer, “I find myself surprisingly fond of the politicking.” The admission came with a wry smile, and Hux was proud of himself for managing that. Really, it was a good thing that he found he enjoyed it - his ambitions were far higher than simply serving as an aide to the General.

Far, _far_ higher.

“And have you been on the dance floor yet?” There was a glimmer in Ren’s eyes that sent Hux’s heart into his throat.

“Not yet, no,” Hux said. Ren deposited his now-empty glass on a passing waiter’s tray, and then offered Hux a hand.

“Shall we?”

Hux’s heart went into overdrive, his throat went dry, and he was glad for his gloves, because hopefully they would hide that his palms were sweating terribly. He rested a hand in Ren’s, and the Knight led him to the floor, and Hux found himself swept into a remarkably composed waltz.

“You strike me as a man who has never been satisfied, Major,” Ren said, dropping his voice low. Hux felt electricity crawl up his spine. For a moment, he was terrified - did Ren know of his ambitions? Of his family, of the whispers about his maternal grandfather?

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” Hux said, swallowing and making an effort to keep up with Ren, who was a surprisingly accomplished dancer. Not for the first time, he wondered who Ren had been before he was, well, _Ren._

“Don’t you?” Ren chuckled, and in that moment Hux was _sure_ he knew. He _had_ to know, to be insinuating like that. “You’re like me. I’m never satisfied.” There were layered insinuations in his voice, and Hux caught himself shivering, torn between wanting to bolt and wanting to kiss Ren breathless. Or maybe wanting to drag him off the dancefloor and into the first closet he could find so Ren could pin him to a wall and fuck him senseless. That sounded _fantastic._

And then he felt Ren tense and pull him against his chest almost protectively, and all of his thought processes stopped in favor of appreciating how utterly _solid_ Ren felt, until the Knight bent to growl in his ear.

“Something is wrong. I can sense it, but I can’t...fix on it,” he said, and there was a note of frustration in his voice. “There are people here who mean harm to the General, but I can’t pick them out. Too many minds, not enough time to dive deeply enough to focus on one.”

That yanked Hux out of his lust-fueled haze as efficiently as having a bucket of cold water dropped on him.

“Keep dancing,” he said, “but try to maneuver us towards Whit. And do your level best not to attract unnecessary attention, Ren.” Keeping moving would let him survey the room, but they both definitely needed to be closer to Whit in order to stop an attack. Ren gave a small nod and began to follow Hux’s directions, working them across the dance floor and towards where Whit was conversing with a woman in a dress so tight it might as well have been painted on.

“His wife,” Ren supplied low in against his ear. “Not a likely suspect.” Hux nodded, conceding, scanning the crowd for anything out of the ordinary.

His eyes were drawn to a flicker of movement in the rafters, and - _shit,_ of course.

“Ren. Sniper. Northeast corner.” He said, and then he moved, pulling out of Ren’s embrace. There wasn’t time for tact, he could see the glimmer of a scope being lined up and there it was, for the briefest instant, a laser sight dot on the General’s chest.

Hux bodily shoved him out of the way, but he wasn’t quick enough - the bolt hit Whit in the shoulder instead of the chest, but it still hit him. He hissed, and the party dissolved into chaos. Ren yanked the sniper out of his nest with the Force, sending him crashing to the ground, but about four others near the General were pulling out blasters and none of them were First Order.

“For the Republic!” One shouted, and Hux found himself groaning, because _of course._

He slipped the knife he always kept on hand out of its wrist-sheath, and darted towards them.

“Get the General out!” He said, gesturing to stunned partygoers.

General Whit was _not_ getting assassinated on his watch.

 

\------

 

Kylo had been distracted handling the sniper - he spun in time to watch Hux open another assassin’s throat up cheek to cheek with a blade he hadn’t even known the Major _carried._ Blood spattered his pale skin and his dress whites and even stood out against his hair.

Without his lightsaber there was little Kylo could do, so instead he fell back on a subtle but difficult manipulation of the Force - ruining the assassin’s aim. He nudged blasters just slightly off course, sent bolts into the wall or other attackers instead of into himself or Hux or anyone else, all the while keeping the sniper pinned against the wall.

And the whole time Hux moved like a predator, sinking his knife into soft bits and throwing absolutely vicious punches and kicks. His fighting technique wasn’t the hand to hand precision Kylo would have expected - it was dirty and brutal and _magnificent._

When the assassins were dispatched and Hux stood at the center of four corpses, he looked like a glorious bloodstained god of war, and a deeply irrational corner of Kylo’s brain wanted to fall to his knees in worship. Especially when a hand pressed fingers through his normally immaculate hair, now set partially into disarray, slicking it back into place with blood as pomade.

 _Fuck_ , that was hot.

“Mitaka!” Hux’s voice was clipped, and Kylo watched the Corporal practically jump out of his skin, staring at the blood-spattered Major with the same sort of reverent awe Kylo was fairly certain was written on his own face. “Secure the prisoner. I will attend to the General. Everyone else, _get out._ ”

No one hesitated to obey him. Even Kylo found himself moving, but Hux caught his eye and shook his head slightly. Instead, he fell in next to the Major, trying not to be too obvious in sneaking glances at his blood-soaked glory. “Vicious” and “brutal” were not words he had ever thought to apply to Hux - “cold,” “calculating,” “precise,” certainly, but not _vicious._

Apparently, he had greatly misjudged.

Kylo was finding that when it came to Hux, he rather enjoyed being wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The initial dialogue between Ren and Hux on the dancefloor is shamelessly lifted from "Satisfied" from Hamilton; this story on the whole is very much inspired by Hamilton (and all the chapter titles are also from that musical.) If you have not given it a listen please do, and join me in my secondary hell of crying about America's founding fathers.


	4. Stay Alive

 Things get worse, after that. 

Whit’s near-assassination by people who publicly claimed to support the Republic provided the easiest pretext for open war Hux could imagine. The four on the ground had gotten in by impersonating invited guests, and they had let their sniper partner in through a back entrance. Sloppy security by the household guards, and Hux was beginning to regret not insisting on using First Order troops. They certainly wouldn’t have left doors unguarded, nor would they have been so sloppy in their pat-downs as to miss four blasters.

The problem was that the First Order was still insisting on operating like a traditional military, and not the guerrilla force Hux knew they needed to be. 

Whit respected his ideas, but few of the other Admirals did, and even fewer were willing to actually attempt to implement them. They were proud old Imperials, unwilling to stoop to what they considered criminal, smuggler, or Rebellion tactics. So Hux was left watching, waiting, composing the General’s communications and speeches and being a pretty face for propaganda pieces.

It was driving him  _ mad.  _

He had taken to picking at his palms, a nervous habit he had eradicated in the Academy - or so he had thought. Now, there were raw red crescents all over his palms, and he knew he was sleeping less and drinking more.

The irony being he wasn’t even  _ in command,  _ so the cascade of failures that had the First Order on the run weren’t  _ his.  _ But they  _ felt  _ like his, and he felt, intimately, like he should be doing  _ more _ . He practically begged Whit to give him a proper command, to let him take over a ship and prove the efficiency of his ideas. The First Order  _ needed  _ this, but Whit refused to budge. He said Hux was too valuable to risk, and that he could not fight his Admirals every step of the way, even as it became more and more obvious that the strain of their losses were taking their toll on him. 

 

\-----

 

It was deep into Gamma shift, which meant that few people were awake except for maintenance staff, a skeleton bridge crew, and insomniac Majors. Hux had tucked himself into a viewport with a bottle of brandy and a glass that he had forgotten about three drinks in. Few people were going to find him like this, and it was a nicer view than drinking in his quarters.

“You should be careful how much you consume, Major,” the rich baritone of Ren’s voice made Hux turn. The Knight was lounging idly in the doorway, helmet off. 

They had spent little time alone together since the dance - Ren had his fool quest, Hux had his work - and that was unfortunate, because Hux could not stop thinking about that wonderfully intense waltz. 

“You could help me moderate,” he said, holding up the bottle, and he would have blamed the alcohol if he really wanted to lie to himself. “If you’re allowed that kind of thing, I don’t pretend to know what kind of restrictions there are on you Dark Side monks.” Ren laughed, and Hux reminded himself how much he liked that sound, and how he also sort of like how Ren’s face looked when he was actually amused. Ren strode over, waving a hand at the door to close it, and delicately lifted the bottle from Hux’s hand.

“Nothing is forbidden to a student of the Dark Side. Prohibitions are for Jedi, and fortunately for you, I am  _ not  _ a Jedi,” Ren was far too close when he said that, wearing a grin that was far, far too knowing. And then he leaned back and took a swig directly from the bottle, looking very pleased with himself.

Ren ended up leaning against the arm of the chair Hux was in, gently taking one of Hux’s bare hands in his and running his fingers over the red marks on the palms.

“You carry so much stress, Major, like the weight of the army is on your shoulders.” He observed idly.

“If they would just  _ listen, _ ” Hux grumbled bitterly, “we’d be doing better.”

“They’re fools not to,” Ren hummed, and then he drew a thumb over Hux’s palm and made the Major shiver. “Just because a tactic is dishonorable does not mean it is unuseful.” Hux regarded the Knight for a long moment, and decided he needed to distract from his own stresses, lest he end up revealing too much.

“So,” Hux said, and he could only blame his boldness on the alcohol, “nobody ever talks about who you used to be, but you can’t have been  _ born  _ Kylo Ren,” he waved a hand, idly. “And I don’t think you learned to  _ waltz  _ from Snoke.”

Ren regarded him for a long moment, and Hux wondered if he had made a very, very grave error. 

“You’re right,” Ren said finally, and he flicked a wrist, the Force sending the bottle to settle gently on the table. (Hux drew in a sharp inhale. Displays of Ren’s Force powers, even if they were small, still  _ did things  _ to him.) “I was not born Kylo Ren.” He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, and all Hux could think of in that moment was how utterly soft that lip looked. “I was...Ben Organa Solo, once.” Hux inhaled sharply. “The son of Princess Leia of Alderaan, and her smuggler husband. Well. He  _ was  _ her husband.” Ren laughed dryly. “I don’t think their marriage survived me slaughtering a school full of Jedi children and then fleeing to the Dark Side.”

Hux considered Ren for a long moment. Of course he had heard him called the Jedi-killer, but he had assumed it was an exaggeration, or mythos.

“How old were you?” Hux asked. “When you left and found Snoke?”

“When I left and when I found Snoke are two very different questions,” Kylo hummed. “He was already in my head when I killed everyone. He’s been in my head for as long as I can remember. But - I was fifteen, when I left.”

“Shit,” Hux breathed, and he stood up to go get the bottle because he felt like he needed an especially large drink to wash away the mental image of a blood-spattered, fifteen-year-old Ren. An arm snaked around his waist and pulled him against the Knight’s chest, and he wanted to be angry but his alcohol-soaked brain was distracted, again, by the sheer  _ weight  _ of Ren’s body. He was  _ massive. _

“I think you’ve had more than enough,” Ren said, and his voice was very close to Hux’s ear, and it sent a shiver through the Major’s body. “I’m going to walk you back to your room.”

“I don’t need you to,” Hux grumbled as Ren released him.

“I know,” Ren said, “but I want to.” The Knight half-guided Hux down the hall to his room, and when they got there, Hux hovered for a moment in the door, considering.

And then he threw caution to the wind and twisted his fingers in the front of Ren’s robe, pulling the taller man down for a rather heated kiss.

Ren was tense, for a moment, and then he leaned into it, hands resting on Hux’s hips. Hux had a long moment to enjoy the feeling of Ren’s lips on his, and then Ren was pulling away and gently pushing him back through the door to his quarters.

“You are very drunk, and I refuse to take advantage,” Ren said, and he almost sounded  _ regretful. _ And then he was gone.

 

\------

 

Once he was safely back in his quarters, Kylo peeled off one of his gloves, delicately pressing his fingers to his lips.

Even drunk, Hux kissed well, better than Kylo had imagined. And he hadn’t been lying when he said nothing was forbidden to him - sex, alcohol, other indulgences were all perfectly allowed. But he knew Snoke would not allow him to have a secondary attachment, a secondary loyalty, especially not one to a man as clever and ambitious and as assuredly destined for great things as Hux.

Kissing him, and all the roiling emotions a simple touch of lips inspired, proved to Kylo that he could not casually pursue Hux - and if he seriously pursued him, entangled himself in a...relationship, Snoke would have Hux killed to keep his apprentice loyal.

Kylo had finally found the one thing he would never be able to have.

 

\------

 

Hux had very little time or energy to regret his drunken indiscretion, and Ren seemed content to avoid bringing it up. That was fine with him, even if he  _ did  _ ache for it, did absolutely want to revisit kissing and also other things while he was sober.

But the Order was preparing to take Felucia, critical for its arable land and access to the Perlemian Trade Route, and the assault was to be led by the utterly intractable Admiral Izar. Izar was perhaps the most obnoxious man in High Command, and he utterly refused to even consider Hux’s strategies.

Izar had put out a call for assistance, and the  _ Finalizer  _ dropped out of hyperspace at the same time as the  _ Deianira,  _ another First Order  _ Resurgent- _ class under the command of Admiral Dubois and one of Ren’s Knights, a man named Aoki Ren _.  _ It became obvious why, as soon as they were in Felucia’s orbit - a highly disorganized retreat was going on, with Izar’s Star Destroyer, the  _ Endless _ , taking heavy fire from pilots in X-Wings. Resistance, likely - their presence was unexpected, but not entirely a surprise. There were rumored to be bases in this and nearby sectors, for the same reaosn the First Order needed Felucia.

“Izar!” Whit snarled, once he had the Admiral on comm. “Did I not make it  _ perfectly clear  _ how important this system is?  _ Why  _ are you retreating?” 

“There are too many of them!” Izar replied, looking panicked. His holo-image shook, and he looked away, like he wanted to run for his escape pods. 

“I’m sorry,” Whit said, with heavy sarcasm, “is actual battle not to your tastes?” Izar hung up. Whit snarled furiously. “Hux!” 

Hux snapped to attention, and he hoped, for a brief moment, that this was going to be  _ his moment. _

“Yes, sir!” He said.

“Contact Admiral Dubois on the  _ Deianira.  _ Tell him to take the lead in this assault.” Hux nodded sharply. He liked Dubois, at least - the man was open to smarter tactics than just “throw everything you have at the problem and hope.” Which meant it was likely that Hux  _ would  _ get a taste of command, because Dubois would be willing to work with him.

They were successful, ultimately - but Izar’s Star Destroyer was lost, too damaged by the time help arrived, along with much of its crew.

Izar himself was scooped onto the  _ Finalizer  _ in an escape pod, almost totally uninjured.

Hux despised him. 

He strode through the halls to the CIC, where Hux and Dubois were discussing the space battle while Ren listened in and added surprisingly astute commentary. He and Phasma would be leading the ground assault and meeting the  _ Deianara’s  _ forces, headed by their trooper Captain and Aoki Ren. Whit had retreated to his office to begin damage assessments, trusting Hux to handle the tactical discussion with Dubois.

Hux ignored Izar at first, more interested in the holocall, but once Dubois signed off, Izar sniffed fairly loudly.

“I’m surprised the  _ Finalizer  _ is still flying, since it appears to be captained by a wizard and a child.” Ren was on his feet and clenching his fist in an instant, and Hux recognized the motion he used to choke the life out of enemies on the battlefield with nothing but his mind. As much as Hux would dearly love to see that happen to the arrogant, sneering Admiral, this wasn’t exactly the time - so he gripped Ren’s arm, and, once the masked head was turned to him, he shook his ever so slightly.

He had a much better plan.

“Is that what you see, here,” Hux said, idly, striding towards the Admiral, “because it looks to me as if you are in no position to comment, as the  _ Endless  _ is now so much space junk.”

“Which would not be the case if I had been allowed to make a  _ proper retreat, _ ” Izar snarled. “A tactical retreat is a perfectly honorable way to end a battle that is hopelessly out of your favor, but an arrogant whelp like you would know nothing of that. I doubt your skills extend beyond your pretty face and your willing mouth.” 

Hux heard Ren surge forward, incensed further by the insult and the implication, but he just very carefully pulled off his glove and slapped Izar across the face with it.

“Strong words, Izar. I intend to hold you to them.” Hux said, voice like ice.

“I accept your challenge,” Izar said, voice haughty. “I will not be dishonored by you.”

“Good.” Hux retrieved his glove and slid it back on. “Tomorrow. Beginning of Beta shift. Training room 3-C. We’ll settle this then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Admiral Phillipe Dubois borrowed with permission from my darling friend Parue; he's an OC from an RP group we're both in, as is Aoki. He is a gorgeous silver fox and he and Aoki Ren are absolutely fucking.


	5. Ten Duel Commandments

“Hux,” Ren was trailing him through the mess hall, which was fairly unusual, and making a surprisingly firm effort to talk him  _ out  _ of dueling Izar, which coming from Lord Impulsive felt rather rich. “If you’d let me Force choke him we’d be done, but a  _ duel?” _

“You sound as if you find the idea outlandish,” Hux said, casually making sure that Ren also filled a plate because he was distantly concerned about the man’s eating habits. “It’s actually relatively common, though in most cases at some point during the pre-duel process the dispute is worked out and no one shoots.” He took a seat at the table he usually shared with Phasma, and Ren sat down too, pulling off his helmet and looking distressingly earnest. (Hux tried to pretend he didn’t notice that the attention of everyone in the mess was on them.)

“I  _ do  _ find it outlandish. It’s dangerous, you could be  _ killed.”  _ Ren even  _ sounded _ sincere, and part of Hux wanted to slap him for the concern.

“Lord Ren, it almost sounds as if you’re worried for my safety. I promise you, that isn’t necessary.” Hux waved a hand. “There will be a medic on site, and it’s considered unseemly to actually shoot to kill.”

Phasma sat down, then, setting her helmet on the table and looking wide-eyed.

“Did you really slap the Admiral in the face on the bridge and challenge him to a duel?” She asked, leaning forward, and then she glanced over, and down at Ren’s helmet, and back at his face. “Ah, sorry, Lord Ren, sir.” Ren waved a hand, dismissing the apology.

“He did,” Ren fixed Hux with a very stern look.

“I did,” Hux confirmed. “Phasma, would you do me the honor of being my second?” Phasma lit up.

“Major Hux, sir, I would be offended if you chose anyone else.” 

 

\-----

 

Once he was assured that Hux was not going to be talked down - “it’s a matter of  _ honor,  _ Ren, if I back down now it’s as good as admitting he was completely correct,” Hux had insisted, and Ren finally conceded with a long, very put-upon sigh, which really, he had absolutely no right to - Ren became very interested in the whole process. He casually observed Phasma’s meeting with Izar’s second, a Vice Admiral who looked ready to wet himself at the sight of the towering Stormtrooper Captain in her chrome armor flanked casually by Kylo Ren.

It was traditional to try and negotiate an apology, but the Vice Admiral stumbled through an obviously rehearsed explanation that the Admiral would not be backing down from his words and Hux could stand or shame himself, and that was that - just a confirmation of the time and place Hux had dictated.

Hux took responsibility for wrangling a medic, and by that point word of the duel was starting to spread across the ship. 

The night before, he wrote a brief letter to his father. There was always a chance Izar would break code and shoot to kill - he had to be prepared, even if he thought it was unlikely. 

Ren, Hux, and Phasma arrived at the training room together, and Hux took the time to peel off his gloves and pass them to Ren.

“Why the beginning of Alpha shift?” Ren asked, curious.

“Traditionally, if we were planetside, we would be dueling at dawn - as the  _ Finalizer  _ doesn’t  _ have  _ a dawn, per se, this is the closest approximation.” Hux replied, and Ren hummed briefly, a strange sound run through the vocorder. “You can’t interfere, you understand that, yes?” He fixed Ren with a solid stare. “No Force nonsense to alter his aim. If he behaves dishonorably and shoots to kill, let him dishonor himself.”

“I’m not going to let him kill you in front of me,” Ren growled, settling into a seat on one of the observation bleachers. Other officers were filtering in, taking seats as well.

“See all these people?” Hux said, gesturing. “He wouldn’t  _ dare.”  _ Kylo made a noise that sounded like disagreement, but he sank back and settled in.

Izar and his second walked in from the other door, and the Vice Admiral and Phasma met in the center of the room. There was a brief discussion, a perfunctory last offer for Izar to apologize, which was rejected, and then Izar and Hux met in the center of the room. Each took a pistol that had been chosen from the training room - belonging to neither of them, to reduce the possibility of tampering. There was a perfunctory bow, and then they faced away from each other.

Hux could hear his heart pounding and his blood rushing in his ears as they turned apart and strode the traditional ten paces.

He spun on his heel, aimed, fired at Izar’s side.

Izar’s shot barely grazed his shoulder. 

Izar hit his knees. 

“Izar, do you yield?” Phasma called.

“He yields,” the Vice Admiral replied, as the medic ran to tend to the Admiral. Hux folded his hands in parade rest, ignoring the pain in his shoulder, and gave a sharp nod.

“I am satisfied.” He said, sharply.

“Are you, Major?” Hux tensed, and even Ren turned fairly quickly. There was Whit, regarding Hux with a long, slow stare that made him feel like a scolded child.

“Yes, sir,” Hux said, feeling very, very small.

“Let the medic patch up that injury, and then meet me in my office.” Whit’s tone and expression didn’t betray any emotion, and Hux found himself glancing at Ren, hoping for some kind of assurance. Ren somehow managed to convey “I told you so,” likely specifically regarding this being a reckless, terrible idea, with nothing but an incline of his head and a thing with his shoulders, and part of Hux sort of wanted to punch him. Smug bastard.

 

\-----

 

Hux sat across from Whit, in his office, with the distinct feeling of having been called in for a scolding. As much as the General professed to not like Hux’s father, he had exactly the same disappointed glare the Commandant had perfected. Wildly, Hux wondered if they had taught that look, in the original Imperial Academy. 

“You challenged Admiral Izar to a duel.” Whit managed to convey “I’m not angry, I’m just disappointed” in every line of his body language and tone.

“He insulted me. He insulted you, he insulted  _ Ren.” _ Hux said, in an attempted defense that had very little fire behind it. “Frankly, I think if I hadn’t challenged him, Ren would have choked him out right there on the bridge, and that would have been slightly more messy than a perfectly to-regulations duel.” Hux swallowed. “Sir.”

Whit rubbed his temples, looking distinctly frustrated.

“Son,” Whit said, and Hux tensed immediately, “this war is difficult enough without you further provoking other members of High Command.”

“Don’t call me son,” Hux grumbled, under his breath.

“You have solved  _ nothing,  _ all you’ll do is aggravate other traditionalists like him, who see you as a clever but arrogant upstart!”

“Then let me prove to them that I’m  _ not!” _ Hux shot out of his chair. “If I had a ship, or even just a battalion,  _ anything,  _ I could show them what I can do! Prove to all of High Command that I have the fine tactical mind we both know I do!”

“Or you could die,” Whit snarled.

“I am more than willing to die for the Order,” Hux replied, just as fiery. “We should all die in glory for the Order.  _ Izar  _ should have gone down with his fucking ship!” 

“The Order needs you alive!” Whit slammed a fist on the desk. “Ren needs you alive, you’re the only one who seems to have any effect on that ridiculous manchild - son,  _ I  _ need you alive.”

“Call me ‘son’ one more time,” Hux snarled, far too incensed to think of much else. Whit levelled him with an ice-cold glare that stopped his fury right in his tracks.

“Major Hux.” Whit said. “Since you seem to so underestimate the value of diplomacy, I will require you to attend the summit with me next week. Several members of High Command will be there, as will representatives of the Republic, to discuss use of the Perlemian Trade Route. It promises to be intensely dull, and intensely educational. You cannot blow up or shoot all of your problems, Major, some things require a more delicate approach.”

 

\-----

 

Ren caught his arm, just before he left, in an empty hallway.

“You can’t go,” he said, and the vocodor removed any inflection, but his body language was all tense lines.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a choice,” Hux said. “I didn’t actually do anything  _ wrong,  _ so Whit can’t  _ officially  _ punish me, but he  _ can _ drag me to an intensely boring trade negotiation to make me ‘learn the value of diplomacy.’” He actually made a small air quotes gesture, which he had hoped would draw a spot of humor out of the Knight, but Ren just pulled off his helmet and stared at him with those distressingly sincere eyes, widened slightly in genuine concern.

“You can’t go,” he repeated, and with the distortion gone it was clear there was real, genuine concern in his voice, in every inch of him. “Something terrible is going to happen at those talks. I’ve seen it. Hux,  _ please,”  _ Ren’s hand had travelled from Hux’s bicep to curl in his, and he was hanging into it, every line of him bespeaking genuine worry.

“If you know of a threat, why haven’t you reported it? And shouldn’t you be telling the General this?” Hux asked, tone slightly accusatory. 

“I don’t know of specifics. And I  _ did  _ speak to the General, but he dismissed it as mystical nonsense.” Ren grit his teeth. “Hux, you are in  _ danger,  _ I am begging you, find a way not to go.”

“I’m sorry, Ren.” Hux withdrew. “I can’t. I have to go, I’m under orders - and  _ Whit  _ has to go, and so does Izar, and a few of the other admirals, because we need these routes. And you have to take care of this ship.” He squeezed Ren’s hand, and he wasn’t sure why - it wasn’t as if he owed the man anything; one drunken kiss and some very heated looks did not equate to a relationship. “Listen to Admiral Dubois; he knows what he’s doing. Try not to destroy it too thoroughly or scare the men too much while we’re gone, hmm?”

Ren regarded him seriously for a long moment, and he looked ready to say something. Then he exhaled between gritted teeth and let go of Hux’s hand, putting his helmet back on.

“I hope the conference is successful.” There was a formality in his voice that was usually lacking from their interactions, and it made Hux antsy, but Ren was already withdrawing, already gone.

Hux sighed heavily and made his way to the shuttle. Still, Ren’s warning stuck in his head.

 

\-----

 

Hux wished he had listened to Ren, had begged out of the conference, had escaped somehow. 

Three days into it, radicalized elements of the Republic delegation snuck in a homemade bomb.  



	6. The World Turned Upside Down

Kylo paced furiously, not caring that everyone on the bridge was staring at him. It had been two weeks since the bombing - both sides had recovered their dead and injured, and Hux was not among them. Whit was gone, so was much of High Command.

Hux was missing. They had found blood, but not enough for him to have bled out, and the bomb was definitely not powerful enough to vaporize a body.

Besides, Kylo was certain he would feel it if Hux died. He would have known the moment it happened, surely. So Hux was out there, somewhere, and Kylo itched to be allowed to find him. It was, Kylo told himself, because Hux was a qualified and capable leader, and he was too valuable to the Order to discard.

It was actually because the clever Major with sharp eyes and a sharper mind was far too  _ personally valuable  _ to Kylo Ren. He could not have what he wanted - what  _ Hux _ wanted - but he certainly wasn’t going to  _ abandon  _ Hux to some radicalized wing of the Resistance.

Hux was destined for so much more than that. Kylo had seen it. Brief visions, but visions nonetheless - of Hux in a General’s greatcoat, standing on a stage high above a veritable army of Stormtroopers, giving a speech. Of Hux’s lineage - ever since the vision where the Force had shown him how much Hux looked like a young Palpatine, drawing the line clearly, Kylo had begun to imagine they were destined to rule together as Vader had with the Emperor.

Hux was destined for power, not to rot in some cell.

But Kylo had not been given orders - or even clearance - to pursue what he knows to be true. Finding a man would be far easier than finding a map; a man had a living Force presence to reach for, and after nearly a year on the  _ Finalizer _ and regularly in Hux’s company, Kylo was certain he could pick it out. If only he was  _ allowed  _ to.

“Lord Ren, sir,” one of the officers - Corporal Mitaka, maybe? Kylo was not for the most part good with the names of the men - was standing inches from him, looking thoroughly nervous.

“Yes?” Kylo asked, regarding him from behind the mask.

“There’s a call for you, on the holochannel,” before the Corporal had even finished his report, Kylo was off. Only one person called on that channel - if it was Dubois, he would have just commed the bridge. Indeed, when he stepped into the suite, the massive projection of Snoke hovered in front of him.

“Kylo Ren,” the creature addressed him, and he knelt.

“Master,” he said.

“The First Order is in turmoil. The flagship goes uncommanded. This must end.” Snoke leaned back.

“Sir,” Kylo began, and he knew he was taking a risk, “I believe that if I am allowed to recover Major Alexandros Hux, he would make a fine replacement for General Whit.”

“Our propaganda poster boy,” Snoke said. “An interesting choice.”

“He has displayed incredible tactical acumen - Felucia might not belong to the Order were it not for him,” Kylo said, “and I believe that because of his propaganda position and the personal recommendation of the former General he will be accepted well enough by what remains of High Command.”

“And you are certain he lives?” Snoke asked. Kylo nodded.

“I am.” Kylo replied.

“Then go, my apprentice. Bring Major Hux back, and bring him to me. I will determine if he shall become our new General.”

 

\------

 

When the door to his cell opened, Hux didn’t even bother to sit up on his cot. He refused to give these Republic bastards even the slightest hint of respect, because they deserved none of it. Their interrogation techniques were crude, nothing even close to what he had been trained to resist. He met them with only stony silence, no matter how much he was dragged about and smacked around.

They had treated his injuries from the explosion, burns and shrapnel cuts and bruises from being thrown into a wall. It could have been much worse - he strongly suspected it  _ had  _ been worse for most of those there. 

It felt pointless. He was going to die here, once the Resistance tired of him, or maybe he would be sold off, but the Order certainly wasn’t coming to the rescue unless someone more important was here with him. The Order would be too busy trying to put itself back together to worry about picking him up.

His interrogator grabbed him roughly, dragging him out of his cell and to the room they had been using for interrogations. He was deposited roughly in a chair, and he sat back and began the process of tuning out what was going on around him so he could maintain his silence. It was one of the first and most effective techniques he was taught - to focus elsewhere. Usually he ran plans for Starkiller - for the greatest weapon the galaxy had ever seen. A planet constructed into a hyperspace cannon, flinging the power of suns to destroy planets. The calculations grounded him, but it felt exhausting to work on those this time.

So he thought about Ren instead, because he was going to have one pleasant thought before he died. If he managed to get out of this, he promised himself he was never going to discount Ren’s portents - obviously this one has come spectacularly true. 

He allowed himself a moment of irritation at Whit, too, for not listening, but he had burned through most of that his first few days and was left only with hollow certainty that Whit was likely dead. Surely the General would have been a preferable target for interrogation, and the vigor with which they were going about questioning him indicated they didn’t have a better source of information. 

He almost found himself wishing Ren hadn’t killed all the Jedi - surely this would be easier if they had one to dive into his brain and rip out the information they needed so he could be done with it and shuttled off to whatever horrible fate awaited him.

And then, as if summoned --

_ Hux?  _

A querying voice, in his head, familiar, welcome.

_ Ren? _ He focused on the thought, to the exclusion of all else - to the exclusion particularly of his now-shouting captor, driven to rage by his impassiveness.  _ Is that you, or am I beginning to hallucinate? _

_ It’s me, _ Ren said,  _ keep projecting, I’m coming. _

Hux’s captor twisted his hand in the front of his shirt, lifting him out of the chair and slamming him against the wall. 

“Something fucking funny, Order scum?” The man snarled. Hux realized he had been grinning ferally - because he trusted that if Ren said he was coming, he was coming. Which meant he was probably going to kill everyone here, because Kylo Ren did nothing by halves. 

“Oh, nothing specific,” Hux said, finally deigning to break his silence, “just that you’re all going to die.”

 

\-------

 

Being close enough to Hux to actually touch his mind gave Kylo a renewed surge of strength. He had been searching, actively, for days, flinging his consciousness across the cosmos until he latched onto the edges of Hux’s and directed his command shuttle towards it. It wasn’t really designed for this, for long-distance hyperspace travel, but it  _ could  _ do it and Kylo absolutely did not intend to borrow some other ship for such an important mission. He could damned well fly himself to slaughter his way through a Resistance base and recover Hux. 

And now he was close enough to speak mind-to-mind, and getting closer, getting a firmer fix on Hux’s location. He wanted to make the shuttle fly faster, to push it to its limits, but he knew well enough that he would serve nothing and no one, least of all Hux, by getting himself smeared across hyperspace.

So he grounded himself in Hux’s surprisingly composed thoughts, becoming clearer as he got closer. He was thinking about equations and architecture - about something great and grand and powerful. About a  _ weapon. _ A magnificent weapon. He couldn’t follow all the calculations, and Hux certainly wasn’t thinking about explaining them, but he could follow the overall picture. Something greater than either Death Star, something that could irrevocably tip the balance of the Force itself.

Kylo inhaled sharply. He needed to bring Hux back, to see this made reality. This was the first step grand destiny he had seen, he was sure of it. 

 

\------

 

Hux knew as soon as Kylo got there. The sound of screams echoing through the small base was rather informative, and the horror written on the face of the man guarding his cell was frankly delicious. Hux allowed himself the same mad grin - Ren really was going to kill everyone here, and it was going to be beautiful.

Another Republic officer came stumbling into the holding area, panting.

“How many?” The guard asked.

“One man,” the other gasped, eyes wide. “He’s some kind of Sith or something, got a crazy lightsaber and he’s just. Throwing people.”

“Kylo Ren,” Hux supplied, feeling very self-satisfied. “He’s going to slaughter you all to save me, which I think is the grandest romantic gesture I’ve ever seen.” It was bragging, crowing a little, but Hux felt he was owed that.

The guard whipped to glare at him, and reached for his blaster.

“Maybe we’ll kill you before he gets here,” he snarled.  _ ‘Well, shit,’ _ Hux thought briefly, and then he reached out -  _ Ren, a bit more quickly please, this all becomes moot if I get shot. _

The only response was a wordless feral snarl, in his head and outside.

Hux pushed onto his feet, ignoring that his legs felt weak and shaky and that it hurt rather badly to stand, and started calculating. He didn’t have much room to move, but the walls would absorb blaster bolts, not deflect them, so he would just have to be fast. 

The guard was lining up his shot when the door to the holding area flew off its hinges, directly into the second man, slamming him violently enough into the wall that Hux suspected he wouldn’t be getting up, and almost immediately there was a lightsaber through the guard’s chest. 

Ren ripped the door off its hinges and strode forward, deactivating and holstering his lightsaber, and then he scooped Hux up.

“You’ve lost weight,” he noted, and somehow managed to inflect it with dry humor.

“I’m glad one of us finds this amusing,” Hux growled. “Get me out of here, Ren.”

“As you say, General.” Ren said lightly.

For a moment, Hux felt like he couldn’t breathe.  _ General.  _ Surely Ren was playing a game, surely this was a joke, one didn’t simply skip ranks like that, but --

“Snoke wishes to meet you and make your promotion official. I suspect you will want to look more put-together when that happens.” Ren continued, stepping around and over bodies - and pieces of bodies, good  _ Maker  _ Ren was vicious with that mad lightsaber. “And your men are eager for someone to resume command. They will be pleased it is you.”

_ General Hux.  _ He grinned, turning it over in his head.

Yes, that sounded rather good.


	7. Non-Stop

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've figured out how many chapters I want this to be, so that's nice. Also, please check out the lovely [illustration](http://flukeoffate.deviantart.com/art/A-Winter-s-Ball-Kylux-Edition-601431758) of the waltz from chapter three by the lovely FlukeOfFate!

Hux’s recovery took much longer than he wanted it to, because he was far more badly damaged than he had allowed himself to acknowledge.  As soon as Ren had him out of the cell and onto his shuttle, he collapsed, and he spent two days in bacta suspension and asleep once he was back on the  _ Finalizer.  _ As soon as he could walk, against medical advice, he left the medbay and set to work preparing blueprints for Starkiller. He intended to present those to Snoke as soon as he could - he  _ needed  _ to begin construction as soon as possible.   


Two days after his release from medbay - he figured, he had been fairly focused and wasn’t sure he’d slept - there was a knock at his door, and he pressed it open without much of a thought or much of an actual diversion from the holographic construction he was putting his final calculations into. Dimly, he registered a  _ hiss  _ and a  _ thunk,  _ and some part of his brain absently acknowledged that meant it was probably Ren, but it wasn’t until the man spoke that he finally looked up.

“I suspect medical would not have let you go if they knew you were going to spend two days sleeplessly blueprinting your weapon.” Ren said, but there was no judgement in his voice.

“Starkiller,” Hux said. “It will be called  _ Starkiller.” _  He met brown eyes and saw the feral grin spread across the Knight’s face.

“You’ll want this,” Ren said, dropping a small stack of flimsis on his desk. “I saw your calculations, in your head, while I was searching for you - I’ve spent the past several days meditating, and I believe I have the planet you need.” Hux flipped through the reports - information on an Unknown Regions iceball with no name, just a designation, RA-P234N, and from what he could see, Kylo was right, it was perfect.

“I could kiss you right now, Ren,” he said, and he meant it, on several levels that weren’t just gratitude. For a moment, there was something in Ren’s eyes, and then he shook his head. 

“Another time, perhaps. Snoke wishes to speak with you. Bring your plans.” Ren stood up and replaced his helmet, and Hux sighed gustily, picking up the portable holoprojector and editing numbers on the fly to fit the actual planet Ren had delivered him.

He stepped into the holochamber, Ren at his side. It was strangely girding, to have him there.

Not that anything was appropriate girding for staring Supreme Leader Snoke in the face. The man, if he could even be called a man at all at twenty-something feet tall, ancient, monstrous, and scarred, was  _ terrifying,  _ and it took every ounce of Hux’s self-control to keep himself standing in perfect parade rest. It also helped to transfer the trembling he  _ wanted  _ to do into digging his nails into his palms, softened by his gloves. 

“So,” Snoke regarded him, and Hux tilted his chin up, a show of certainty, “you are the young Major my apprentice is so impressed with. Younger, I think, than either he or the General made clear when they spoke of you.”

“Supreme Leader, sir,” Hux began, and he tried to sort out the mix of delight and grief he felt knowing Whit had mentioned him - delight because he had clearly impressed the General very much to be worth mentioning to the Supreme Leader, grief because promotion or not, he couldn’t really believe  _ Whit  _ was  _ gone. _ Snoke raised a hand, silencing him fairly effectively.

“Your youth obviously belies your genius, Major Hux, and I don’t think I have to remind you that there have been much younger leaders in the past.” Snoke raised an eyebrow. Hux would have been alarmed, had anyone else made such blatant allusions - but Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker had been barely in their twenties when they took apart the Empire, and Anakin Skywalker had fallen at barely twenty himself and practically dismantled the Jedi. “Few of the current Admirals have managed to impress me. Perhaps some fresher blood is exactly what High Command needs.”

“I am certain Hux is equal to the task, master,” Ren said, and Hux nearly started - he had almost forgotten the other man was there, so focused was he on Snoke. “I have seen his capabilities myself.” Hux crowed just a little, internally.

“And you, Major? Do you believe you are  _ equal to the task  _ of leading the First Order to glory?” Snoke asked.

“With all due respect, sir, yes, I absolutely believe I am.” Hux said, and he focused on his certainty. “The program that is used to train the Order’s Stormtroopers is my father’s, and he ensured I had the finest military education possible under the circumstances of the First Order’s exile. Although I have not had an opportunity to be in direct command, I have aided in strategizing in several campaigns and was the primary agent of the capture of Felucia after Admiral Izar’s utterly disgraceful attempt.”

Snoke regarded him for a long moment. Hux willed himself not to wilt or to flinch, under that ancient and knowing gaze.

“Do not disappoint me,  _ General,”  _ Snoke said. “Return to Home World and meet with the remains of High Command. The loss of General Whit and the Admirals was a tragedy, but we cannot afford to let it continue to leave us in turmoil.” 

“Sir,” Hux said, “I would like to present my plan to move us forward.” Snoke looked interested, inasmuch as it was possible to read that face, so he held up the holorecorder and brought up the Starkilelr schematics. “A superweapon, a converted planet that uses the power of suns to power hyperspace-tunnelling lasers. In essence - the capability to destroy any system, anywhere,  _ from  _ anywhere.” 

Snoke leaned forward.

“You can build it?” He asked.

“I can. The  _ Order  _ can.” Hux said, full of certainty.

“See it done.” Snoke said.

Hux nodded sharply, and Snoke’s hologram vanished.

He kept it together until he got back to his quarters, where a brand-new, fine gaberwool greatcoat with the bands of his new rank was waiting. He scooped it up and spun around, letting out a very undignified squeal of delight. There was a note in the pocket, in a sloppy hand, and it just made him grin wider.

‘ _ I thought you would want it immediately, so I had it tailored while you were in suspension.  
-R’ _

 

\------

 

Hux was glad for the greatcoat when he actually had to deal with High Command, because it felt good to have a blatant and obvious symbol of his rank standing before men much older, much more experienced, and much more qualified for his new position than him.

Admiral Dubois, at least, had clapped him on the back on his way in and informed him it was good to see him in command, where he belonged.

Ren was there too, standing in the corner looking ominous, and had refused to elaborate on the purpose of his presence to Hux.

Hux was deeply disappointed to see that Izar was still alive, because he had been at that damned conference, though it appeared one of his arms was now mechanical. He was regarding Hux like he considered the young General to be dirt on his shoe.

There were, at least, several younger faces - new Admirals to promote those who had been killed or injured too badly to return to service. Several of them were staring at Hux in open admiration. That was reassuring.

He took his place at the head of the conference table.

“Gentlemen,” he said, “I present to you the future of warfare.” He pressed a button near his seat, and the holoprojector in the center of the table brought up the blueprint for Starkiller Base. “A hyperspace-tunnelling laser weapon, capable of destroying an entire system in a single shot. Greater than either Death Star. The appropriate planet candidate has already been located, and the Supreme Leader has already given his approval. All that is required, Admirals, is your commitment.”

“Is that all,” Izar sneered, regarding Hux with narrowed eyes. “I see you have moved rather quickly on this project,  _ General, _ ” and he somehow managed to make Hux’s title sound disrespectful. “Some sort of rush?”

“Only the rush to end a war that has consumed far too many resources and cost too many lives, that has gone on in one form or another for  _ thirty years,”  _ Hux replied, and he had put on the voice he used for his propaganda speeches. “Starkiller will be the weapon that ends the war. The Republic will not survive long when we can simply blow their capitols out of the sky and take the  _ entire system  _ with them, with no warning, and no chance to escape.” Hux grinned cruelly. “Admiral, I have spent my entire life under the specter of war with the Republic. I think it is well past time we ended it.”

Dubois clapped, quietly, and so did many of the younger Admirals, but Izar and the man next to him, Mathof, joined in very grudgingly. 

Still, Hux was grinning when he stood up and left the meeting, feeling powerful and terrifying - especially with Kylo at his side. The Knight didn't stay long - begged off for training with his Knights, who were gathered on Home World for the gathering of High Command - but it still felt good.

When Mathof caught him, Hux found himself wishing Kylo had stayed. 

“You’re an ambitious little serpent, aren’t you,” the Admiral said coolly, sliding in next to Hux. 

“You say that as if ambition is a bad thing,” Hux replied dryly, refusing to rise to the bait.

“It is when you’re stealing power that does not belong to you.” Mathof said. Hux ground his teeth together. but did not respond. “Just because you’ve chosen to grab your position by fucking the Supreme Leader’s apprentice,” the Admiral said, apparently prepared to make his insinuation explicit, “does not mean the rest of us have to  _ respect  _ you.” Mathof drove an accusing finger into his chest, to punctuate the accusation. Hux couldn’t even work himself up to being  _ angry,  _ just  _ annoyed.  _ Frankly, he  _ wished  _ sleeping with Kylo had contributed to getting his position, because it would mean he was  _ sleeping with Kylo.  _ That he wasn’t was a fairly consistent disappointment.

Hux locked eyes with the Admiral, wrapped a hand around that finger, and bent it back until it cracked.

“You would do well to remember, Admiral, that I shot Izar in the side for similar accusations, and that was when he  _ outranked  _ me. Imagine what clever things I would do to a subordinate that spoke to me that way.” Hux said, tone icy.

Mathof stared in abject horror, and then fled.

 

\-------

 

Construction on Starkiller proceeded at a rapid pace. Hux was determined to have it ready in four years or less - superweapons weren’t built in a day, but there wasn’t exactly  _ time  _ to go slowly. They were not the Empire, they did not have unquestioned galactic domination. 

The sooner it was built, the sooner he could fire the shot that would win the war.

As it progressed, Hux found himself micromanaging more - it was  _ his  _ project,  _ his  _ design, the fruition of  _ his  _ career, and he did not like leaving it in the hands of anyone else. Sleep sometimes felt like a distant memory, galactic conquest a far-off someone-else’s-problem - though he still sent admirals out to sweep new planets into the Order, appearing in person when necessary, which it sometimes was (“Whit was very firm on me not being able to shoot all of my problems, Ren,” he had told Kylo once, on their way to talks that would bring several systems in all at once, all of them suffering badly under the neglect of the Republic and desperately in need of the security the Order would provide, “and I intend to put that advice to use.”) 

This was going to be his legacy. The war that had defined his entire life, his entire  _ existence,  _ ended before it could spiral out of control and become a second Clone Wars, or a second Galactic Civil War. Everything else would have to wait.


	8. Blow Us All Away

The first time Kylo had a vision of Hux as Emperor, it was two years into Starkiller’s construction and three into his frustrating search for Skywalker. The General was on the bridge of his Star Destroyer, commanding a minor skirmish with some pirates that was really beneath his notice and his acumen but he  _ insisted  _ on being hands-on. He wasn’t particularly resplendent or radiant, no more than he usually was in command, but for a moment Kylo saw him in a much finer, white uniform, with a trailing cloak of blood-red and a glittering golden circlet in his red hair. 

It took him a moment to realize he had seen anything at all, and not just indulged in a brief flight of fancy. It had looked so  _ right,  _ to see Hux in imperial regalia; it was the kind of thing that seemed to fit him. 

The visions came more often, then, becoming clearer - sometimes he saw Hux in triumph on what had to be the completed Starkiller, sometimes standing in sunlight on a balcony on what had to be Coruscant - and there was a part of Kylo that hoped there was a place for him, in that glorious golden future.

 

\------

 

The further Starkiller’s progression moved, the worse Hux slept. It made no sense, at first glance - after all, he was fulfilling his life’s ambition, and when Starkiller was ready, it would make his permanent, indelible mark on the galaxy. He would finally, he was sure, make his parents proud - in a way nothing he had done ever could. But the closer he got, the more nightmares he had - of failure, of death, of the planet cracking to pieces beneath his feet.

He threw himself into work to patch every hole, cover every vulnerability. Redundant security upon redundant security. Shields that could not be breached by anything short of a ship traveling lightspeed, multiple layers of outer plating on the oscillator, everything he could do to ensure there would be no “trench run” on his beloved superweapon.

He would not be Tarkin or Palpatine. He would not die a failure.

 

\------

 

The first test firing went beautifully. Four years of hard work, blood, sweat, and tears, and Hux watched from the bridge of the  _ Finalizer  _ as his fierce machine sucked in a star and shot it out at a distant, uninhabited system in the Unknown Regions.

Seven planets crumbled to dust.

Hux felt a feral grin write its way across his face.

From his position next to him, Ren gave a small nod.

“Next, the Republic?” He asked. As if it was even a question. Hux turned that feral grin to his companion, and watched Ren tense in what he suspected was a very pleasant sort of way.  


“Next, the Republic.”

 

\-----

 

Hux was making a visceral effort not to project his excitement everywhere. Not even the abject disaster of the traitorous trooper and the scramble for the droid could dim his enthusiasm, not then, and they were really more Ren's problem now than his. FN-2187 likely had only minimal information he could pass to the Resistance, and even if he _could_ give details about every layer of Starkiller's security, it was vanishingly unlikely that a ragtag group of idealistic "freedom fighters" would be able to penetrate the measures Hux had personally overseen being put in place.  


With permission granted from the Supreme Leader, he would finally be able to turn his weapon on the Republic - on the people who had discarded whatever parts of the galaxy didn’t conform to their little vision. They had thrown the remnants of the Empire aside, left families like Hux’s to scramble in the Unknown Regions. The Republic, undeniably, was the reason Hux had spent his formative years on starships, scrambling for food and sleeping with a dozen other children until the First Order had reformed and taken a planet that people could live on.

They had let the outlying parts of the galaxy wither and die, while enriching themselves.

They would pay for their neglect. Viscerally.

“Will you be at the firing?” He asked Ren. The Knight shook his head, and Hux read “rueful” out of his body language, which was interesting because he had been nothing but rage and purpose ever since leaving Jakku. Things had been more strained between them - stress, Hux suspected, thinning both their tempers, and making them bite at each other.

“There is a lead on the droid, and...I cannot be certain what the scale of death you intend to unleash will do through the Force. It would be poor form if I collapsed on the stage at what is supposed to be the First Order’s great moment of triumph,” he explained. “I will be aboard the  _ Finalizer,  _ and will be taking her to Takodana.”

“Be careful with my ship, Ren,” Hux said, and he inclined his head politely. “And do bring back the droid, after all this effort it will give me great pleasure to help you end Skywalker.”

 

\------

 

Standing on that stage over thousands of Stormtoopers at the absolute pinnacle of his career, his  _ life,  _ really, Hux felt absolutely indestructible. He spared a moment to regret that Ren wasn’t present, but he was right, having the Knight collapse publicly from some kind of Force backlash would be terrible PR.

Hux would be lying if he said he wasn’t deeply enamoured with the knowledge that he was having an effect on the Force itself, and a powerful one at that. The fundamental power that held the universe together, and he was  _ warping it.  _

It wasn’t, he supposed, like Ren’s capability to  _ directly _ manipulate it, but Hux would be causing a fluctuation on a scale not seen since Alderaan.

No, not seen  _ ever -  _ this was far greater than Alderaan. 

All under his command.

He stepped into position to give his speech, clasping his hands behind his back.

“Today is the end of the Republic!” He began. “The end of a regime that acquiesces to disorder!  At this very moment, in a system far from here the New Republic  _ lies  _ to the  _ galaxy  _ while secretly supporting the treachery of the loathsome Resistance.” He could feel his voice getting louder, and he unclenched his hands, bringing one up to gesticulate with, to emphasize the power of his words. “This fierce machine which you have built, upon which we stand, will bring an end to the Senate!  To their cherished fleet! All remaining systems will bow to the First Order!  And will remember this... as the last day of the Republic!”

He took a breath.

_ “Fire!” _

At that moment, watching the red light streak across the sky, Alexandros Hux swore he had the universe at his fingertips.

 

\------

 

He should have known it couldn’t last. Not only did Ren not bring back the droid, he brought back a fledgeling Jedi, and now Hux had to put his precious weapon through a level of stress it was in  _ no way  _ prepared for. They had never tested if it was safe to fire twice in such a short time - it might put more strain on the oscillator, on the whole fucking delicate  _system,_ than it could handle.

Never mind that the fucking  _ Resistance  _ was here, because cornered and with no help, of course they had attacked. This was exactly the same thing that had happened to the first Death Star, when it had gone after the base on Yavin 4, and Hux was furious to be forced to repeat history in this ultimately foolish, frustrating way. Were he giving the orders, the Ileenium system would not be Starkiller's target. No, they would have sent some of the other Resurgent-class destroyers to mop up the whole mess and bring in as many prisoners as possible.  


But no, Snoke wanted the Resistance - and the entire, absolutely conquerable, resource-rich Ileenium system blasted out of the galaxy.

Hux wanted to scream, but he couldn't. There was no room for that, not now. Not ever, really, for a commanding officer.

And Kylo Ren, naturally, was off chasing his personal demons, because he couldn’t be conveniently available when Hux needed him most. No, that would be asking far too much.

He inhaled slowly. 

The Resistance had not yet penetrated the oscillator's many levels of armor, it was so far stable, and they were mere seconds from being able to fire it and ending this disaster once and for all.

Hux stood firm, counting off in his head, up instead of down to the moment when he would be able to give the order to end the Resistance forever.

_ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven… _

The planet shook under his feet, a great heaving that could only mean one thing.

The oscillator had failed.

It was over.


	9. Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

About the only thing even close to a comfort Hux had when he took a shuttle and a small Trooper squadron into the snow on the dying Starkiller Base to find Kylo Ren was that he had received a communication from Phasma that she was out of the trash compactor and evacuating. He added “threw his best Captain down the garbage disposal” to the list of slights the Resistance had committed today, along with “destroyed his glorious superweapon” and “possibly killed and at least likely severely injured his co-commander.” (Ren would not need Hux to gather him up were he not injured, Hux knew that much.)

He stared at the dot of Ren’s tracker, heart hammering in his chest, glad that it hadn’t been damaged or destroyed in whatever confrontation had left Ren unable to get himself off the planet. The closer they got, the more damage Hux could see that wasn’t caused by the shaking-apart planet; there were trees neatly felled, sliced in half by what he could only assume were lightsaber blows. Had Ren been in a  _ duel?  _

Finally, the tracker beeped to indicate they were close, and Hux barked out the order to take the shuttle down. He didn’t bother to wait and see if the Troopers were following him off the shuttle - they would if they were smart - and he stopped needing to follow the tracker when he realized he could just follow the blood spatter.

He swallowed.

_ Blood spatter. _

Hux didn’t think he had ever actually seen Kylo  _ injured _ , never mind  _ bleeding,  _ and he tried to pretend for approximately two and a half seconds that the concern twisting him up inside was selfish and that it was because Snoke would end him if Kylo didn’t make it back, but really, it was absolutely because he despised the idea of losing Ren. He had already assuredly lost his rank, his reputation, his weapon; if Snoke did not strip him of his power High Command would do their damndest to. 

He could not -  _ would not - _ lose Ren, too.

The planet gave a tremor underneath him, and he staggered forward, past another fallen tree, and - there. Ren was a dark splash on the snow, feet from a gaping gash in the planet’s surface, surrounded by pooling blood. Hux inhaled sharply and glanced across the chasm, and for a moment his glare locked with the fierce eyes of a young girl, no more than twenty or so, holding a bright blue lightsaber.

She glared back, and he memorized her face. This had to be the mysterious scavenger, the one Ren had discarded all sense for, the new little fledgeling Jedi. Undoubtedly the reason that Ren was currently struggling to push himself up, probably the cause of the new, cauterized scar on his face. Hux wanted to chase after her, to drag her back, to put a bolt through her skull and stop the rise of the new Jedi and take revenge for Ren.

Ren groaned faintly, and the General turned his focus to the fallen Knight. No time to pursue, not if he wanted to get Ren out of here alive. He knelt in the snow, distantly registering that he was going to launder the hell out of this uniform.

“Can you stand?” He asked. Ren shook his head.

“Don’t think so.” He extended a hand, and a few feet away, his lightsaber wobbled faintly, but didn’t dislodge itself from the snow. Hux reached out and took his hand, shaking his head.

“Don’t push yourself,” he said, and he would have been ashamed that his voice cracked a little, but who was around to hear but Ren and a few inconsequential troopers? Ren sighed and leaned against him, and he nodded to one of the men he’d brought with him. “Recover Lord Ren’s lightsaber.”

Fingers squeezed against his, and Hux glanced back at Ren, whose eyes were wide and desperate.

“Hux, I -” He sounded painfully desperate, and no,  _ absolutely not.  _ Hux shook his head, cutting Ren off.

“Ren, whatever deathbed confession you think you need to make,  _ don’t.  _ You are not going to die here. I  _ refuse  _ to allow it.” Hux said sharply. Ren actually managed something approaching a smile, and then he closed his eyes and slumped against Hux. For a moment, the General panicked, but he moved his fingers to press at Ren’s wrist, and - yes, even through his gloves and Ren’s sleeve he could feel the fluttering of a pulse. “You two,” he barked at a pair of troopers, “help me get him onto a stretcher.” No matter how much he wanted to, there was absolutely no way Hux could maneuver all of Ren; he was all limbs and muscle and it would be a lot of awkward dragging and wrangling they did not have time for. 

The troopers were either well-trained or fearful enough not to comment on the fact that Hux’s hand stayed firmly locked in Ren’s until he was rushed to the  _ Finalizer’s  _ medical bay.

 

\------

 

It was a tense two days, waiting for Kylo to come out of bacta immersion and the deep, healing sleep that followed. Hux had a brief conference with the Supreme Leader, consisting primarily of reporting that Ren was alive and in reasonably stable condition and receiving the coordinates for the planet where he would be depositing the Knight for the completion of his training, along with orders to come to the surface with him. Hux grit his teeth and acknowledged them.

Privately, he suspected that meant he had finally outlived his usefulness. Publicly all he did was pass on the coordinates, and wait for the report from medical that Ren had woken up.

When it came, he didn’t exactly  _ run  _ because that would be undignified, but he did very definitely  _ briskly power-walk  _ to the medbay, where he was pleased to find that Ren hadn’t actually destroyed anything or terrorized the staff  _ too  _ badly. Perhaps because he still looked faintly delirious.

“We rendezvous with the Supreme Leader tomorrow,” he said, and Ren groaned faintly. Hux waved out the medic hovering near them and deposited himself in the chair next to Ren’s cot, flipping through reports on his datapad. “We’re still cleaning up casualties from the base. We probably will be for weeks.” He exhaled between his teeth. “I’m glad you aren’t on that list.”

“Careful, General,” Ren said, and apparently he was well enough for sarcasm, which was vaguely reassuring, “you almost sound like you’re concerned for my well-being.”

“Of course I am, you insufferable ass,” Hux said, flashing Ren a sharp glare. Ren huffed out something that was remarkably close to a very exhausted laugh. “We’ll be facing the Supreme Leader together in slightly less than twenty-four standard hours. I suggest you prepare yourself.” 

Ren regarded him for a long moment.

“I won’t let him harm you,” he said. “It was my failure, not yours.” Hux blinked, startled. There were a thousand things he wanted to say, but he settled on one, on the easiest part to respond to, in a fairly superficial way.

“I don’t think it’s going to be your choice, Ren.”

 

\-------

 

Standing before the Supreme Leader in person, ironically, was less terrifying than facing his hologram. The hologram projected him at many times over the size of a normal human, but Snoke’s actual form, perched on a throne, was at the most eight feet tall or so, slender, and much less frightening than his massive, booming hologram.

Still, Hux stood at perfect parade rest, absolutely refusing to look at Kylo, who was on one knee and staring firmly at the ground, the picture of shame.

“The loss of Starkiller Base is lamentable, General,” Snoke said slowly, and Hux had to fight back the beginnings of an automatic fight-or-flight response, “but I am pleased you were not lost with it.”

“Master,” Ren said, tremulously, “I take full responsibility for the destruction of the Base - I was in the oscillator, I should have disabled Solo’s explosives before killing him.” 

It was strange, almost  _ wrong,  _ to see Ren like that, prostrating himself, putting his failures on display for evaluation. Usually he was quick to blame anyone else (often Hux), but here, at what must have been the worst failure of his  _ life,  _ he accepted full responsibility.

“General, do you agree with my apprentice’s assessment?” Snoke regarded him very seriously. Hux swallowed.  _ No,  _ no he did not, he did not consider this Ren’s failure at all, he considered it every bit  _ Snoke’s,  _ for insisting on firing on the Ileenium system and for sending Ren on some ridiculous Sith chase to murder his father instead of doing  _ anything actually helpful. _

He carefully pushed those thoughts away, because he was in the presence of mind-readers.   


“Unfortunately, yes,” Hux said. “Were it not for the hole blown in the oscillator by Solo’s explosives, the Resistance would never have been able to destroy the oscillator in time. The outer plating was holding up against their assaults and would almost certainly not have bene breached in the time remaining before the weapon was fired.” 

“ _ Unfortunate  _ is certainly a word for it.” Snoke sat back. “It should please you, then, General, that when my apprentice finishes his training he will be a far more honed weapon, less prone to... _ distraction.” _

“As you say, Supreme Leader,” Hux said, forcibly ignoring the implications. Whatever he or Ren might have felt for each other, they had both decided not to pursue it, clearly, and Hux was fairly certain the main force of Snoke’s implication was that the Ren that came out would not be interested in such things any longer.

Fine. That was  _ fine.  _ So he had missed his chance - ultimately, what did that matter, in the grand scheme of things? What worth was his lonely soul, when there were larger goals to strive for?  


“Go, General, and return to your campaign of planetary conquest. Although Starkiller was destroyed, so was the Republic - there will be much chaos to capitalize off, do you agree?” Snoke said.

“Absolutely, Supreme Leader.” Hux bowed and turned to go, trying to quash the bubble of regret forming in his chest. He really should have kissed Ren, just once, properly, while sober. It would be nice to have that to hang onto.

He was most of the way back to the shuttle when he heard heavy booted footsteps racing to catch up with him, and he stopped, turning. It was Ren, of course, and he let out a soft exhale. 

“Yes?” He asked, and he tried to be annoyed, but it was hard with wide, sincere doe eyes staring at him. 

“Hux,” Ren started, and he reached out a hand, fingers briefly caressing Hux’s cheek before he withdrew. “I wish -” He stopped, and stared at his feet. Hux sighed, taking a step forward and resting gloved hands on either side of Ren’s face. He pulled the Knight down so they were forehead-to-forehead, glad Snoke’s citadel was so empty. 

“Complete your training, Ren,” he said, “whatever the cost may be. But when it is over - come back to me. I don’t care if you are no longer the same man, just  _ come back to me. _ I need you.” It was the closest to an admission he was willing to get.

For a moment, he thought Ren was going to kiss him, and he absolutely would have let it happen. Instead, the Knight let out a soft groan and withdrew, but he caught Hux’s hands in his, holding them.

“I will, General.” Ren said, and then, very quietly - “I need you, too.”

It was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are, at the end of this particular journey!
> 
> Fear not, though - I'm not done with this AU by any means. In a week or so I'll be taking down _Rise,_ because it's going to be incorporated into a multichapter sequel currently working-titled _Rise Against_ and probably featuring cheesy Les Miserables references. JOIN ME THEN FOR MORE PINING AND MAYBE EVENTUALLY SOME ACTUAL RESOLUTION TO IT.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Rise Up [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7011655) by [Carpe_History](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carpe_History/pseuds/Carpe_History)




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